


Unsinkable

by Gingersoup



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, F/M, RMS Titanic, Romance, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-09-02 11:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gingersoup/pseuds/Gingersoup
Summary: After a fight gone wrong in the Department of Mysteries, sworn enemies Draco and Hermione are thrown into a mysterious pensive-like portal and come out the other side onto the RMS Titanic. In a race against time and without their wands, the unlikely duo will have to fight against the binds of their new identities as well as their animosity toward each other in order to survive.





	1. Chapter 1

_ “You,”  _ hissed Hermione Granger, thrusting her wand out from underneath the folds of her robes. The frigid air of the Ministry’s Hall of Prophecy raised goosebumps on her forearm. She’d never have expected to end up back here, especially after the Ministry tightened  it’s security following You-Know-Who’s last break-in... Yet here she was, shivering among the hundreds of towering shelves full of dusty, glowing orbs. Well, the ones that hadn’t been destroyed in their last chase. 

She glared hard at the back of the familiar silhouette, reminding herself to keep a cool head. Harry was only a few aisles away; they had decided to split up to try and find the trespasser quickly. She just had to signal him without alarming the Slytherin… or anyone else who may have been lurking nearby. Though the Ward she had personally placed on the Hall had only sensed one intruder, she personally knew of several different ways to fool such a spell, and didn’t intend to lower her guard any time soon.

Draco Malfoy turned around, sighing. The sight of his face beneath an upturned Death Eater mask- worn almost as a hat- made her blood boil. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here, Granger,” he said, quickly drawing his own wand. 

“I figured you’d be on  _ their _ side,” Hermione spat, outstretched hand trembling, “but I didn’t think you’d actually be getting your hands dirty. Why on earth are you here?”

“Expelliarmus!” He hissed in response, a blue light emitting from the tip of his wand. Hermione gasped in horror as her wand was plucked from her fingers. She watched helplessly as it flew through the air and into his waiting hand. Merlin! How had he cast that spell so quickly? Moreover, how had she let him? 

And now he had her wand, and she was grasping nothing but air. Hermione Granger was suddenly at Draco Malfoy’s mercy. She watched him cautiously, taking a few steps back.

The grin that would have typically overrun his face after such a victorious move against the Brightest Witch of her Age was nowhere to be seen. Hermione latched onto this fact, hoping that she could stall for time until Harry or Ron could spot him.

“What, Malfoy?” she pressed, “ N ot in the mood for a fight? How very out of character for you.”

“I have a mission.” He stated plainly, not taking the bait, “ W here are Potter and Weasley? I know they’re here.” 

“They aren’t,” she lied quickly, “they’re in the … Time Room… looking for you.”

“Hm,” Draco said, eyes narrowing, “I don’t believe you.” 

With surprising speed, wand still pointed at her in a non-verbal threat, he crossed the space between them. Draco reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her roughly toward  him . She was about to yelp out in surprise when his gloved hand clamped firmly down on her mouth. 

“You’re going to come with me,” the Slytherin said, his grey eyes bearing down into hers, “you’re going to be my shield, and you’re going to do it while keeping your fucking mouth shut.”

Hermione glared up at her captor, a spark of hatred flaring throughout her body. She realized then that she had never been so close to the young Malfoy,  nor had she ever been touched by him . The thought of it made her skin crawl. His gloved hand was locked around her wrist, and she wondered if there was any way to get out of this mess.

_ “Do you understand? _ ” He asked, speaking slowly, as if she was dumb. She wanted to bite down onto his finger until her teeth tore through the glove and pierced his skin… but instead Hermione nodded.

“Good,” he said, finally leaning back , but not relinquishing his iron hold on her. “If you do exactly as I say, I won’t have to kill you.”

Such a statement from the blonde prat would have previously made her burst out into uncontrollable laughter, but now, as she stood shivering in the cursed air, under the deadly serious gaze of a Draco Malfoy she had never seen before…  s he realized he was telling the truth. 

A flash of Sirius’s pale face, only a few rooms away, disappearing forever behind the veil floated through her mind. She winced at the painful memory, knowing full well that she had to navigate this situation carefully. Harry couldn’t lose anyone else he loved in this Merlin Forbidden place, and she certainly didn’t plan on going out like this either.

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice called. Draco looked sharply towards his voice, crouching low and pulling the Gryffindor girl with him.

“Did you find her?” She heard Ron ask, accompanied by cautious footsteps. Her heart fluttered, they were getting closer! 

“No.”

“Blood hell, you think she’s been taken!?”

“Hermione? Where are you!?” Harry called out again, more alarmed than the first time. She itched to call out in response, but a sudden jab at her temple made her think twice. Draco’s wand was prodding pointedly against her skull. Hermione could practically feel the vibrations of the unforgivable curse waiting to be released upon her.

“Don’t. Say. A. Word,” Draco growled, hoisting her up with him and quickly making his way down their aisle, dragging her along with him. She realized that this was her chance to make noise without seeming like she meant to…

Her feet fumbled beneath her and she dropped to her knees, thumping painfully (and hopefully loudly) against the freezing concrete.

“You stupid mudblood,” Draco hissed, hoisting her back up by her robes and running even quicker down the aisles of  p rophecies and toward the door leading to the exit. 

“Harry!” Ron cried in the distance, “I heard something! Over there!”

“Hermione!?” Harry cried, his voice echoed through the clammy air along with the pounding footsteps which marked the boys’ pursuit. 

Draco turned sharply, yanking Hermione’s wrist painfully along the way as he dipped and dodged through the maze of glowing orbs. He bumped into one of them, knocking a prophecy from its place. It shattered on the floor, extinguishing the blue flame in a puff of smoke. The crash was deafeningly loud. 

“She’s there! Someone has her!” Ron cried, his lit wand illuminating the two of them as they retreated.

“Fuck,” Draco cursed under his breath, not looking back. A curse flew by them, grazing by Hermione close enough to ruffle her hair. She bit back a horrified scream as the orbs next to her exploded on impact. 

“What the bloody hell are you doing?!” Harry cried behind them.  
“Trying to stop him!”

“And kill her in the process?!” 

She could feel Draco pull her even closer to him , to the point where she was almost tripping on his feet. Once they were at the ancient door leading into the main corridor, the young Death Eater suddenly froze and spun on his toe. He maneuvered her in front of him, holding her at arms length with his wand pointed over her shoulder and at her friends. 

“Don’t take another bloody step,” Draco growled, “I’m serious.”

Harry and Ron skidded to a halt, eyes wide at the realization of who her captor was.

“Malfoy!?” Ron gasped.

“Let her go, you snake!” Harry hissed.

“Boys, don’t worry about me. Go get help,” she pleaded. 

“You’re barmy!” Ron cried.

“We aren’t leaving you here with him,” Harry said, taking a determined step toward her.

“Harry, no!” Hermione stressed and an instant later, felt Draco’s wand pressed roughly against the back of her skull. She sucked in a distressed breath and Harry halted once more. 

“Drop your wands or say goodbye,” Draco warned, “I’m not afraid to kill her.”

A tense moment passed between the three of them, and the air seemed to swirl around the room as the boys sized up the severity of the situation. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron cursed under his breath. He looked at Harry, who looked back at him. They seemed to converse with only their eyes. After another few moments, the two boys let their wands clatter loudly to the stone floor, powerless to do anything at the cost of their best friend’s life.

“Kick them away.” Draco demanded. Neither Gryffindor moved.  _ “NOW!”  _ He bellowed.

They reluctantly kicked their wands, which rolled away haplessly into the darkness. 

Just as quickly as Draco had halted their escape, he started it back up. He yanked her backwards and out into the hallway. She wanted to break away, but the threat of her own death lingered in her brain. How could this be happening? She wondered. What on earth was his mission? What could the Dark Lord possibly want from the Department of Mysteries again? 

He dragged her down the dark corridor, the illuminated tip on his wand leading the way. As soon as the ancient door creaked shut behind them, they heard what was clearly Ron and Harry searching for their wands in the darkness, accompanied by no fewer than twelve prophecies smashing to the floor,  followed by  roughly the same number of swears.

Draco dragged Hermione roughly to one of the first doors in the corridor. “Alohomora!” Draco cast hurriedly, seeming to sense that his time was limited. The ancient, rotted door slowly opened with a sound strangely akin to a death rattle.

“In here,” Draco hissed and Hermione’s heart dropped into her stomach as he pushed her into the inky darkness. The Department of Mysteries was the most dangerous place a wizard or witch could find themselves in. Each room was filled with curious, wondrous, and-  _ more often than not- _ deadly magical mysteries. She swallowed hard, her mind running through the hundreds of scenarios the room could hold for them, almost certainly ending in their death. 

“Malfoy, you  _ must  _ realize that this is a bad idea,” she whimpered as he shut the door quietly behind them, his lumos fading away. They were swallowed by the darkness, and Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She could practically  _ taste  _ the magic in this room. It was a deep and ancient magic, more powerful than she had ever felt. She could feel it drumming through her heart and flowing through her blood. 

“Be quiet, Granger,” he whispered, clamping his hand back down against her mouth. She strained hard to listen past the pounding of her heart and the buzzing in her brain. As she sat still, pressed against Draco with his wand still digging painfully into her temple, her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Soon, she began to make out shapes glowing dimly. There were strange looking structures, looking almost like… oversized bird baths? They almost looked like the kind that her mother had placed in the garden for the little finches that lived in the area to cool off in. Were they pensieves? They looked quite similar. They lined the room, which stretched much farther than she had expected. The room wasn’t small at all. It was long, but skinny. _ Like a coffin, _ she realized with a painful swallow. She had to do something. This was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

Panicking, Hermione bit down on Draco’s hand, which had loosened slightly as he strained to listen for Harry and Ron’s footsteps. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and he launched away from her, cursing loudly. 

“Fuck! Filthy Mudblood! You bloody BIT ME!” 

She wasn’t sure what had compelled her to do it, but every instinct woven into her being had been screaming at her to get out of there right then and there… Even if that meant taking the chance that Malfoy would hurt her, she somehow felt that was still the safer option.

“I heard something! In there!” 

Ron’s voice. A small triumphant smile graced her lips. 

As the boys’ footsteps approached, Draco spun away from glaring at Hermione, quickly wiping the small spots of blood from his hand as he began hurriedly casting spells to lock and reinforce the door. 

Sensing a fleeting opening, Hermione quietly crossed the room before launching herself at Draco. She managed to get her hand around his wand, but she was quickly knocked back as Draco deftly slipped her own wand out of his sleeve and brandished it at her.

The ancient door gave a sudden lurch, accompanied by a low grunt that told Hermione Ron must have thrown himself against it. Thinking quickly, Hermione began to shout. “He’s used a locking charm and an immovab-” 

As soon as he realized what Hermione was saying, Draco leaped toward her in an attempt to cover her mouth once more. In the darkness, he tripped over an uneven patch on the floor and barreled into his classmate instead, cutting off her shouting with a loud gasp.

Off balance, Draco’s momentum was enough to spin both of them the few meters remaining to the nearest waist-high basin. Hermione pushed back against him, attempting in vain to right herself, but Draco had a death grip on her robes. With one final stumble, he fell backward into the wide basin, yanking her back with him. With a last gasp, Hermione fell headlong after Draco into the large container of murky liquid.

The expected splash never came. Instead, it felt as if they had fallen headfirst into a pit. Hermione was overcome with a sense of vertigo as all the air rushed from her lungs, the terrifying feeling of freefall overcoming her. In mid-air, they continued their tussle for their wands, grabbing at one another. Amidst their battle, Hermione saw flashes of light and shadow in the murky air, and heard random snippets of sound. It was as if screams and whispers had been tossed in a blender and poured into her ears. Suddenly, Draco’s iron grip on her released and she felt him being sucked roughly away from her. And with him, both of their wands. 

What was happening? Where were they going? What had Draco Malfoy gotten them into? 

She squeezed her eyes shut and curled her body in on itself as the whirling colors and sounds and rushing wind spun around her faster and faster until it was a cacophony of sensory overload - Oh Merlin, she was going to vomit! 

. . .

It took her a moment to realize that the world had gone silent. Ears ringing, she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly as she attempted to dispel the fuzzy bits of her vision and reorient herself. It took a few moments for her to register that she was in the back of a car. The white and black interior smelled new, like fresh leather and new rubber. She could tell right away that this car was expensive. 

But it wasn’t just any sort of fancy car, she realized, blinking away the spots from her vision… This was one of those classic cars from the start of the industrial revolution. One of the first models ever produced, she realized. She recognized the interior from the numerous car shows her dad had dragged her to as a child. But what business did an outdated car like this have being connected to a basin in the Ministry of Magic? Had it been a portkey? And more importantly, where was Draco Malfoy with their  _ wands _ ? 

The car door next to her opened, and she jumped in her seat, yelping in horror.   
“Come on now,” a feminine, slightly raspy voice came, and Hermione looked down to find a stern looking woman. Her hair was pinned back into tight, decorative curls beneath a cartoonishly large lilac hat. Despite the impatient look the woman was giving her, Hermione didn’t respond... She was too busy trying to wrap her brain around the woman’s appearance. Her dress was peculiar, and not just a wizarding-world peculiar. As in, completely irrational, given the current year. The ruffled coat was cinched tightly around her small frame, giving her the appearance of one of those historical Victorian wives.   
“I’m not going to ask again,” the woman snapped, eyes darting about nervously. 

“I’m … not... feeling very well,” Hermione murmured, bringing her hands up to rub nervously at her face. 

“What are you doing?! You’re smudging your lipstick!” she reprimanded and Hermione glanced at her fingers, noting distantly that they were covered in a sickly red shade. 

_ I don’t remember putting on lipstick,  _ Hermione thought dumbly, still reeling from her drop into this strange situation.

“What’s all this?” A girl with kind eyes and a white bonnet popped into view next to the older woman, “Are you feeling alright, Annabelle?” A spark of concern lit her freckled face.

“She’s fine, Lottie. Go tend to our luggage. Make sure none of those degenerates steal anything,” she snapped back, causing Hermione to wonder idly who Annabelle was. 

“Yes, madame,” Lottie said before dashing away. 

“To be on a ship for seven days with so many of  _ those _ people,” the woman shuddered, shaking out a handkerchief and dabbing dramatically at her forehead. 

“To be on a _ what _ ?” Hermione asked, her muddled thoughts pulling through enough to register that they seemed to be going on a journey. 

“For heaven’s sake, Annabelle, what has gotten into you?” The lady hissed, reaching out to pull Hermione from the cabin of the automobile. The Gryffindor girl stumbled on teetering heels down to the stone ground, the salty smell of the ocean along with the acidic punch of gasoline, coal, and new paint blending to create the strangest scent greeting her. Her stomach churned unpleasantly. Why were they calling her Annabelle? That wasn’t her name. 

A blaring horn interrupted her whirling thoughts- it was so loud it shook her down to her bones and rattled her teeth. She turned her head in alarm and found herself staring up at the largest, grandest ship she had ever seen. The black and white hull glimmered in the sunlight, the four golden smokestacks jutted proudly into the clear blue sky and hundreds of people were milling about on the deck, waving and laughing. Her heart sank. She knew this ship. How could she not? She had grown up in muggle London, and the image of this ship had been burned into her brain from all of the books, shows, and documentaries that surrounded her as a child.

It was the RMS Titanic. The ship that was doomed to sink on the fourth day of its seven day journey with 1,500 souls still trapped inside… and she was about to board it, somehow. For what was certainly not the first time since she was introduced to the world of Magic, Hermione found herself at an absolute loss of logical thought. She swayed on her feet, suddenly going pale.

“Oh, heavens. She’s going to faint. Horace, help me get her back into the car,” the woman said, and Hermione dimly registered a tall, looming figure of a man approach her.

It was then that the contents of her stomach from that night’s dinner found its way up her esophagus and onto her pretty, unfamiliar high heels. Shortly after, her world went dark.

. . .

Draco Malfoy had never been a particularly claustrophobic person, but as he found himself being pushed roughly along a never ending line of people…. especially after having been dropped roughly into this strange, too busy, too loud world, he felt trapped. The sun was impossibly bright, the taste of the air was simultaneously salty as well as metallic. Draco couldn’t help but gag. Revolting.

Where on earth was he? What forsaken place had that basin dropped them in? A massive ship sat to his left and he glared up at it, squinting in the sunlight, trying to get a good view of the muggle monstrosity. He looked around him, trying to gauge where- or even  _ when _ \- he had found himself. The muggles around him wore strange clothing, tattered and dirty, but quite clearly nothing from his own era. He had seen the muggles that lived their day to day in London, they wore white sneakers with rubber soles, sleek denim trousers and tailored, muted tops beneath shiny coats dawned with zippers. It was a tacky look, but also quite recognizable. These clothes, on the other hand, these people…  t hey were different. They weren’t from his time. 

Draco stood upon a coal-dusted port, in leather shoes that were falling apart at the seams. He looked at his hands and gasped, they were covered in filth. The typically white crescents of his nails were caked in grime , and yellowed from neglect. He had absolutely not fallen into the pensieve-like portal with hands like  _ this.  _ Someone behind him shoved forward, almost knocking Malfoy into the family in front of him. 

“Give me some bloody space, filthy muggles,” he growled and shoved back at the sweaty travelers pushing into him at all sides. They scoffed and drew their luggage tighter into themselves, throwing dirty looks his way. He didn’t respond, he simply wrinkled his nose at their smell. 

A strong, heavy hand pressed into his shoulder and he shrugged it off, looking in alarm to the stranger who had touched him. A towering man with a thick, red beard and a dirt covered visage glared at him. 

“I don’t think ye should be talking to people like that, Nicholas,” the man grumbled in a lilting  S cottish accent.

“Don’t touch me, you bloody freak,” he snapped and the man looked at him in confusion. 

“Are ye feeling alright?” he asked, peering closer at Draco’s face, “ Yer not getting sick, are ye?”

“Leave me the hell alone,” Draco snapped as he pawed the unfamiliar clothes for his wand…  h e couldn’t find it anywhere. Panic was beginning to set in. Granger must have taken them from him in their tussle after they fell in. His stomach churned,  _ Granger.  _ She and her bloody friends found him lurking around the Hall of Prophecies. How she had even known he was there was as much a mystery as any that the Department held. He clenched and unclenched his fists...  t he second he found her-

“Nicholas,” the Scottish man warned, jerking Draco out of his scheming thoughts and turning him to look at him. In any other case of a stranger handling him so roughly, Draco would have perhaps cursed the man. But he didn’t have a wand, and this man was more of a beast, really. He was quite taller than the young wizard; his hands easily eclipsed Draco’s entire skull. He swallowed roughly.

“If they think yer sick, they’ll turn ye away. They’ll turn  _ us _ away. All of the work we’ve done will’ve been fer nothin’,” the man stressed, and Draco blinked rapidly, trying to wrap his brain around the situation. 

“What are you talking about?” Draco snapped, “You aren’t making any sense.”

“The Titanic, lad,” the man said, rapping his thick knuckles on Draco’s forehead, “we’re going to the New World. Remember?” 

Draco reeled, the name Titanic rung a bell, but he wasn’t sure why. He had never cared much for Muggle Studies, in fact, the whole class had been a joke to him. In years previous, the young Malfoy had paid some Ravenclaw plebian to do his assignments.

“The New World?” 

“America, mate,” the man said and a grin stretched across his sooty face. “We’re goin’ to make our fortune.” 

Draco gazed up at the towering ship that he would be aboard in a few minutes. He was going to America. 

“Fucking brilliant,” Draco cursed. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione awoke to the slight smell of brewing tea. Her eyes cracked open to discover an impossibly ornate ceiling, etched with golden designs encompassing a stained glass chandelier.  _ What?  _ She rubbed at her face, sitting up in the unfamiliar bed. Where was she? 

She was about to call out for someone, but the room around her rumbled and jerked roughly to the side, a distant horn blaring loudly. The chandelier swung above her, tinkling ominously. Her heart stopped.

_ No,  _ she thought desperately, suddenly remembering where she was.

_ This is the Titanic!  _ Her frantic mind registered. Draco had knocked the two of them into a mysterious basin filled with glowing, dusky liquid while running from Harry and Ron… He was surely somewhere on this ship as well, and probably with both of their wands… And this voyage was destined to end at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean in a few days. 

Hermione threw the duvet cover to the side and swung her legs off of the bed, a sense of urgency overtaking her. She had to get off of the ship before it left the port! She stood up, swaying gently as stars bloomed in her vision. She looked down and discovered that she was donned in nothing but a frilly nightgown. She sighed inwardly but knew she couldn’t just sit idly by on a doomed vessel. Maybe they hadn’t left port yet, maybe the jerk she had felt were the boilers starting up or the engines revving.. Maybe there was still a chance to escape!

She crossed to the end of her room, throwing up the ornate door and rushing into a larger sitting room. The kind looking maid that she had seen at the port straightened up after she finished smoothing out the tablecloth on a small, round table covered in tea cups and pastries. Hermione’s muddled brain dimly registered that the young girls name was Lottie, and she seemed to be Hermione’s own personal maid. 

“Are you feeling alright, Miss?” The young girl squeaked after taking in Hermione’s panicked expression, “After your… _ stomach upset _ , you passed out right on the road! You gave your mother quite the fright. She should be back soon, but you should sit down… I’ve made you some tea.”

“We have to get out of here,” Hermione barked, crossing the room and grabbing the young girls hand. She was going to take Lottie with her. She didn’t deserve to die. “This ship is going to sink.” 

“Wha-?” She exclaimed, but not before Hermione pulled her away from the steaming pot of tea and out of their room. “Annabelle! You’re in your night dress! You musn’t-”

“We don’t have time!” The gryffindor girl stressed, bare feet slapping down the corridor, passing women and men donned in furs, ornate dresses, and suits. The first class passengers looked quite horrified at the vision of a young girl in her nightgown. She realized how strange she must’ve looked, but she didn’t care. 

“Where are we going?!” Lottie cried, distress seeping into the young maids voice. Hermione didn’t answer. There wasn’t any time to explain. The witch wasn’t sure how to get to the ship’s deck, but she figured that if she went against the flow of guests making their way to their rooms, she would find the exit. She pushed and shoved her way through families and carts of luggage, all the while towing the alarmed maid.

“What on God’s green earth!?” An older man in a top hat exclaimed, adjusting his bifocal as they ran past him. Hermione finally found herself breaking out of the maze of corridors and into the main lobby- arching ceilings and ornate chandeliers hanging above them, a testament to the wealth and craftsmanship of the biggest man-made machine. Hermione would have stopped to gawk at the beauty of the ship, but the nagging voice in the back of her head kept her pushing forward. She took the steps of the grandiose staircase two at a time and finally launched herself through a pair of large doors and out onto the ship’s deck. Hermione paused, blinking in the bright sunlight, her loose hair whipping in the wind. 

“Please, Miss!” Lottie’s voice carried over to her as she tried to pull Hermione back inside. “People are staring!” 

“ _ Oh no, _ ” she breathed as she approached the side of the deck, leaning over to peer down the side of the massive ship’s hull. About 50 feet below, the ocean waters were splashing roughly against the Titanic’s side. They were already sailing at an alarming speed. Hermione reeled back, gripping at the safety rails for support. The weight of her situation was fully settling on her shoulders. 

She was too late. They had already left port and were on their doomed journey. 

_ “No, no, no, no,”  _ Hermione whispered, frustrated tears filling her eyes. Her knees buckled below her and she rested her head against the cool metal of the guardrails, sucking in deep gulps of salty ocean air. What was she going to do? She was trapped. 

“Miss?” She felt Lottie’s gentle hand on her back, “I think you must’ve had a nightmare. Let’s get back into bed and I’ll summon the ships’ doctor. I’m sure he’ll have something to sedate you-”

“No!” Hermione exclaimed and stood suddenly, wiping at her tears with the back of her hands. She mustered up the strength to give Lottie a reassuring smile. Suddenly all of the horror stories of women in this era being deemed ‘hysterical’ and being quite literally lebotomized or drugged out of their minds flashed through her brain. “I’m alright. I- I think you were right… It was a nightmare.”

Hermione trailed off, noticing for the first time the amount of lingering gazes on her. She looked down at her state of undress and felt self conscious- despite the fact that the gown covered more skin than her typical clothes did. She drew her arms across her chest and shivered slightly. 

“Everything alright here?” A man in an official-looking black uniform approached. He had kind eyes and a thick, white beard. Hermione blinked, glancing up at his cap, which dawned the crest of the ship above a shimmering, golden brim. She noticed several medals and ribbons pinned above his coat pocket, and three men stood at attention behind him. This must have been the captain. Hermione stood motionless, unsure of what to say.

“Yes, Captain,” Lottie said, coming to her rescue and tilting her head in a light curtsey, “sorry for the commotion. Annabelle just had a bit of a fright after a nightmare that the ship was….” She trailed off, blushing furiously.

“Going to sink?” The decorated man supplied and gave the maid a trusting wink, “It’s quite a normal anxiety. I assure you there is nothing to be afraid of, Miss Annabelle.” 

_ That isn’t my name,  _ Hermione thought bitterly. She wasn’t sure who’s identity she had slipped into, nor where Annabelle was at the present, but she knew that she would never be this person. She was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age… With or without her wand. 

“Get this child a blanket,” The captain ordered the officer flanking his right, “it’s quite cold outside with these atlantic winds.” 

The man rushed away and Hermione trembled slightly, goosebumps erupting on her skin. 

“Thank you, Captain,” she mumbled, trying her very best to keep her emotions in check. She couldn’t keep running around, crying that the sky was falling. She would be locked up in her room on the doctors orders. She simply couldn’t have that.

“It’s alright, dear. And you can call me Edward,” he soothed, his eyes crinkling in a way that reminded her so much of Dumbledore it took her breath away. She wanted to cry again. 

“Here we are!” A voice came, followed by a thick fleece blanket draping over her shoulders. It immediately warmed her up and she gave the officer a weak smile.

“Sorry to be such trouble,” she said, very much regretting her outburst. She was in this world now, whether she liked it or not. She had to play by the rules.

“Let’s get back, shall we?” Lottie whispered, wrapping her arm gently around Hermione’s shoulders. 

“Alright,” she conceded and nodded. They curtseyed slightly and made their way back down to her quarters, her head bowed in shame. 

. . . 

“ _ Excuse  _ me, what do you think you’re doing?” Draco asked the Italian passenger currently placing his luggage on the top bunk.  _ His  _ top bunk. It was bad enough that he had to sleep in such disturbingly cramped quarters. He wasn’t about give the better bed to some filthy muggle. 

“Vaffanculo,” the Italian man spat at him and continued in broken english “This is  _ mine.  _ I get here before you.” 

“Nicholas, leave it alone will ye?” His travelling companion, whom he now knew was named Hamish, sighed from his upper bunk across from the Italian passenger clambering up onto his own. “Just take the one below me.” 

“And be crushed in the middle of the night when it gives out under all that weight? No thank you,” Draco snapped and turned his attention back to the mediterranean man,  _ “ _ _ Muoviti, o ti farò del male.” _

_ That  _ made him freeze, but instead of cowering in fear, like Draco had hoped, he simply turned to him and laughed in the young Malfoy’s face. 

“ _ You  _ going to hurt  _ me? _ ” He gasped through his chuckles, his accent almost completely muffling his words. He pretended to shrivel up in fear, trembling on top of the sheets,  _ “Oh mio dio, per favore no!”  _ His bunk mate, another Italian- much younger, probably just a little brother- joined him in laughing.

Draco ground his teeth together as the two men continued to taunt him in their language. His Italian was good after the countless summers spent in Sicily at his family’s seaside estate, so the taunts got under his skin even more. He wished he had his wand. He would curse them all into oblivion. 

“You and I can trade,” Hamish said, jumping swiftly from top bunk and throwing his belongings onto the lower bunk. “We don’t need to bloomin’ fight about every little thing today.”

“Fine,” Draco fumed, finally breaking his glare away from the infuriating foreign man. He threw his stupid suitcase full of foul smelling clothes onto the top bunk. Four men sleeping in one room, he scoffed. If only his mother could see these conditions. She would have an absolute meltdown. 

“Let’s go get some fresh air,” Hamish cautioned, “I think the tight space might be gettin’ to ye, Nick.” 

“Oh! You think?” Draco asked, voice filled with venom. He wasn’t supposed to be on this bloody ship. He wasn’t supposed to be someone named Nicholas. He was Draco Malfoy, and he had been on an important mission before that stupid muggle-born girl ruined everything. This was all her fault. 

On the way up the third class decks, Draco caught his reflection in a decorative mirror. He paused, taking in his appearance.

He let out a sigh of relief when he realized that he still looked the same as always. His skin looked as pale as usual, although his typically slicked back hair was wavy and loose, falling in medium length tresses to frame his face…. But thankfully, it was still just as platinum blonde. He felt a little better as he followed Hamish up the cramped passageway and into the sunlight. At least his face and body were still his.

. . .

Hermione held onto the bedpost, holding her breath and wincing as Lottie cinched the corset up her torso. After her little meltdown, the kind maid had taken her back to her room and given her a cup of tea. It actually had done a little to soothe her nerves. She just needed a little bit of time to get her wits about her before she could make a plan to retrieve her wand and somehow bring Draco back with her to turn him in… That is,  _ before  _ the ship would hit the iceberg and sink. Malfoy had fully gone off the deep end: he was officially a Death Eater. The mask he had dawned in the Hall of Prophecy flashed through her head. A slight shiver coursed through her body. He was no longer the Draco Malfoy that started petty squabbles in the courtyard. This was a Death Eater who had threatened to  _ kill  _ her. 

“I won’t tell your mother,” Lottie said, drawing Hermione out of her inner turmoil. 

“Hm?” She asked, confused as to why the girl was suddenly talking about Hermione’s mum.

“About the little.. Adventure we had this morning,” the maid explained, voice growing softer. It was then that Hermione understood. The severe looking older woman that had been snapping at her when she first landed in this time… That was supposed to be her mother! Well, Annabelle’s mother. 

“Thank you,” she breathed, feeling relieved. She wasn’t sure what Annabelle’s mother’s temper could be like, but from the glimpse of it she saw in the port, she wanted to avoid any further conflict. 

“Well then, how pleased you must be to finally get to spend quality time with Winston!” Lottie continued, changing the subject as she continued to constrict Hermione’s airways. Hermione had no idea who this Winston person was, but she decided to play it safe. Opting with general answers was her only solution.

“Quite happy,” Hermione lied, gritting her teeth as the final lace was cinched and tied shut. “Will he be joining us at lunch?”

“No, don’t be silly,” she giggled, “He’s waiting for you in New York City, of course… Ah, I can’t wait till someone asks for my hand. You must be so tickled.”

Hermione’s eyebrows raised in alarm. Was she… Engaged? She shook her head. He wasn’t her fiance. He was Annabelle’s fiance. 

Once she was all dressed, Lottie guided her to the vanity and began the painstaking process of putting up her hair. As the maid brushed and braided and pinned, Hermione’s mouth dropped open. She had never seen anything like this hairstyle; the regal and complex updo felt as though it had hopped straight out of a history book. And this was just for lunch! 

“Thank you,” she breathed, “You’ve done such an amazing job.”

Lottie blushed beneath her freckles, but quickly set about tidying up. She began making the bed. “Thank you, Miss. I’ll let you do your rouge, since I know you enjoy it.” 

Two swift knocks came at the door and-- before Hermione could even tell the guest to enter-- it swung open to reveal the woman who was supposedly her mother. 

“You can finish that later. Leave us,” the woman snapped and the young maid jumped, quickly relinquishing the sheets before scurrying out the door.

“Why do you speak to her that way?” Hermione asked before her brain could catch up with her lips. Her mother turned to look at her in the reflection of the mirror. Merlin, what had she done? 

“Why do  _ you _ speak to  _ me _ this way?” She said, voice cutting. “How I speak to our Help is none of your concern.”

“Sorry,” Hermione whispered, remembering who she was. She wasn’t Hermione Granger for the time being. She had to play the part of Annabelle. 

“I heard the most peculiar rumors during tea time this morning while you were asleep after your little… fainting spell,” the woman began, and Hermione cringed internally, “...of a girl running around in her night dress this morning, crying like a loon in front of Captain Smith.” 

“Oh really?” Hermione asked, busying herself with her makeup box. She opened the delicate lid to find compacts and tubes of familiar looking substances. Makeup couldn’t be so different from back home in her time, could it? 

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Her mother edged forward, eyes glaring, searching for any crack in her daughter’s facade. Hermione kept her cool as she uncapped a lipstick. She applied the deep red pigment to her lower lip before rubbing both lips together with a smack.

“Not a thing, but that does sound quite strange,” she breathed, moving on to blush.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your change in attitude, young lady,” her mother quipped. “If you embarrass me at lunch… You will regret it.” 

“What do you think they’ll serve today, anyway?” Hermione asked, veering the subject to something lighter. 

“Tell me you won’t embarrass me,” the woman demanded, still glaring at her in the reflection. Hermione finally looked the woman in the eyes, sighing. 

“I won’t embarrass you,” she relented, clenching her fists beneath the vanity table. 

“Good.” That seemed to please the hawk-like woman. She turned on her heel and began to make her way out of the room. “Horace will escort you once you’re ready. Hopefully this time you can keep your food down.” 

Once the door was shut again, all of the air that Hermione had been holding in her lungs escaped. She deflated like a balloon, leaning forward to rest her forehead on her hands. She could tell maneuvering around that woman would be a nightmare. 

After a few moments, she resumed applying her makeup. She carefully looked at her reflection, watching as the face she had seen in mirrors all her life had suddenly become transformed into someone in an oil portrait hung in museums. She pondered this, how did she look the same now as she had in her time and they just accepted her as Annabelle? Was this part of the ancient magic? Or did Annabelle actually look like Hermione? 

She stood up suddenly, dashing over to the small collection of papers she had seen tucked away in the desk by the window. She fingered through them, looking for any official documents that could give her a clue as to who she was in this world. She sifted through dozens of papers: wills, letters, declarations….There! Her fingers paused on a small, official looking card.o

At the top in bold letters:  **_ANNABELLE PAIGE,_ ** and below it: **_DATE OF BIRTH- SEPTEMBER 19, 1896._ ** And below it all… a grainy black and white photo of her face. Hermione sat back in shock, she had dropped into the person that was the exact same age that she had been back in the Department of Mysteries. It hadn’t been random… and given the photo, she had simply taken over this poor woman’s life. Annabelle Paige had been snuffed from existence and Hermione Granger had taken her spot in the conveniently shaped hole she left behind. She suspected that whoever Draco had replaced had the same birthdate as him as well, if not a very close date.

A knock at the door. Hermione gasped and shoved the passport right into her corset. 

“I’m coming!” she cried, walking over to swing open the door. An older gentlemen with a crooked nose, a nasty looking scar on the side of his face, and a distinctly displeased expression greeted her, “Sorry for the wait.”

He didn’t respond, he simply motioned his hand for her to continue on. Hermione walked past him, cringing slightly at his lack of conversation. She doubted she could befriend him like she had Lottie.

. . .

Draco shoved the meager tray of beans and bread away, shaking his head in disgust.

“Let me guess, now you’re not goin’ to eat?” Hamish asked, rolling his eyes.

“This filth? No thanks. I’ll starve.” He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring around at all of the steerage passengers eating and talking jovially. Pathetic. 

“You’ve really been actin’ strange and talkin’ strange,” his companion said, giving him a long and hard look before tearing off a piece of his roll and dipping it into his vegetable soup. “Complainin’ about everythin’, fightin’ strangers… speakin’ other languages? It’s almost like yer a different person.”

Draco huffed in annoyance. He wished that Hamish had been less observant. For a brief moment, he considered telling the man everything; the whole truth of how he ended up in this stupid dinghy. Even though he had tuned out of all muggle history lessons, he knew that muggles and magic didn’t blend. They had a nasty habit of killing and burning magical humans… so, he kept his mouth shut.

“I need some air,” he grumbled and shoved his way out of his seat and up the stairs. Hamish watched him go, eyebrows furrowed.

The salty air, crisp wind and sunshine actually did make him feel a tad better. Instead of lamenting his situation, he focused instead on the sturdiness of the deck below him and the coolness of the guardrail at his fingertips. For the first time since he boarded the Titanic, he took a moment to observe it. 

For a muggle monstrosity, it was actually quite tastefully done. The smokestacks were a classic golden hue, towering proudly into the blue sky. The walls and pipes were painted a clean, minimal white, complementing the warmth of the wooden deck quite well. He peered down the side of the hull, watching the ocean water crash at the Titanic’s heels... and it was bloody fast. 

_ I’ve never seen anything like this, _ he realized bitterly.  _ Maybe muggles do know a thing or two about ships. _

This realization made him angry. He didn't want to think about things like this, but he was trapped with all of these muggles. He wondered where Hermione Granger was and if she was as miserable as he was. Probably not, since she was likely off somewhere, scheming up a plan to get back to their time with  _ his _ wand. He needed to find her as soon as possible. 

“Feelin’ better?” A familiar bass voice asked from behind him and Draco closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He knew he couldn’t keep acting like he had been, it was too out of character for whoever Nicholas had been… and Hamish was becoming suspicious.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “thanks..” 

“I’ve got someone I want to introduce ye to,” Hamish said and Draco turned to look over his shoulder. Two kind looking young men greeted him, one with curly hair the color of sand and the other with tan skin and strong eyebrows.

“Tommy here is Irish, on his way to the new world to work for his Uncle,” he said and the sandy haired man reached out his hand, after a moment's hesitation Draco clasped it and shook. His fingers were calloused so intensely it felt like he was wearing gloves.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Draco murmured, itching to wipe his hand against his fleece pants. He had never willingly shaken hands with a muggle before, and it left a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

At Draco’s response, Tommy laughed. 

“You said you’re both Scots?” He asked, reaching inside his coat for a cigarette, “You’re blowin’ smoke. That man right there is the softest Brit I’ve ever seen.”

Hamish chuckled, “ever since we were in line to board he’s been talkin’ funny. Like one of those first class folks.”

“Must be trying to turn over a new leaf,” Tommy said and grinned, striking a match to light the cigarette between his teeth.

“Everyone knows that in New York you can be a new man!” The darker man said, giving Draco a kind hearted smile before offering up his hand as well, “the names Sam.”

“He’s an American,” Hamish supplied and Draco gave him a look that said  _ ‘I’m not stupid, I know what an American sounds like.’ _

This time the young Malfoy remained silent as he shook hands. He had never met an American before, and it was strange that these were the circumstances it took. 

“You don’t look American,” Draco commented after a moment of observation. 

“And what is an American supposed to look like?” Sam asked, leaning back on his heels and resting his elbows against the metal safety guard rail. 

“Oh, you’ve really put your foot in it now,” Hamish said, eyebrows raised, exchanging looks with Tommy. Draco ignored them.

“I don’t know. Blue eyes, blonde hair, I suppose,” he said, shrugging. The man before him had tan skin, deep brown eyes, and defined cheekbones. He was handsome, and undeniably exotic looking. 

“He’s about as American as you can get,” Tommy grinned and threw his arm around his friend, “he’s an Indian.”

“ _ Half _ ,” Sam clarified, and Draco could swear that he was blushing, “my mom’s Iroquois, my dad’s Scottish. He sent me to Scotland to get a ‘proper education’, as if there weren’t any proper schools in New York.” 

“That’s intriguing,” Draco said, genuinely impressed by the man’s backstory. He was about to ask him what school he had ended up attending but then the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of gold on the deck above him… and for some reason it seized his attention. 

When he turned his gaze, the view of a woman in the most exquisite gown he had ever seen greeted him. He couldn’t see her face, but he could tell from her silhouette and the way she stood that she must have been quite beautiful. His eyes were drawn to the intricate lacework of the gown, and for the second time in the same day he found himself impressed by muggle handiwork. He couldn’t help but stare, inexplicably eager to discover who this dignified girl could be… Surely she was some sort of muggle royalty or the like. He blinked rapidly as her form eclipsed the sun, giving him the chance to see her face.

His mouth dropped open in stunned silence as he watched the girl- whom he now realized was Hermione Granger- survey the ocean view. This had to be some sort of cruel, twisted joke! Draco was left to scrounge among the dogs for bread crumbs while she had been plopped down into the high life, with servants and, damn her, gorgeous gowns? 

The boys around him noticed him watching her, and Tommy snorted.

“Ah, forget it, boyo. You're as like to have angels fly out your arse as get next-”

“Stop talking,” Draco snapped, shoving his way through the group and racing forward. 

Hermione must have noticed the quick movement, as her gaze turned to him as he neared the space below her deck. A look of recognition and fear flashed through her eyes as she took a step back from the guardrails. She seemed to consider running away, but took a moment to observe the distance between them and the hundreds of witnesses milling about. She smirked and resumed her pose. 

“Granger!” He barked, not giving a rats arse if anyone heard him, “come down here!”

“I’m sorry,” she called back mockingly, shielding her eyes from the sun as she peered down at him, “I think you have me confused with someone else!” 

“This isn’t a fucking game!” He snapped, fists clenching and unclenching. For the hundredth time since he boarded the forsaken ship, he wished he had his wand. 

“Good sir, I have no idea who you are,” she called down, feigning confusion. 

“You filthy little-” 

“Goodbye, now!” She waved before turning on her heel and striding from view. An angry heat spiked up his chest. No one talked to him like that.  _ Especially _ not a filthy mudblood like her. 

Before his common sense could kick in, he burst into motion. He sprinted towards the stairs leading up to the first class deck. He took the steps three at a time and ignored the sign on the gate that forbade him, a mere 3rd class passenger, from entering. Gasps of disgust and shock from the finely dressed men and women rang in his ears as he flew past them.

He wanted to curse at them, but settled on throwing them dirty looks instead. He was one of them and they didn’t even know it. Not to mention, he was certain that he could buy them all of he so wished. Muggle money was worthless, everyone decent knew it. 

Draco spotted Hermione’s retreating form as she sauntered down the deck near the lounge chairs for sunbathing. When he neared enough to her he grabbed her by the forearm. He let his inertia carry them both spinning into a conveniently placed nook between two extra lifeboats. Hermione was about to scream out when he clamped a hand over her mouth. She struggled against him, hatred in her eyes. This was too familiar.

“Give me my bloody wand,” he demanded. 

She blinked rapidly, eyebrows furrowing in concern. A moment passed between the two of them. 

“You have it, don’t you?” Draco said, anger faltering. She shook her head vehemently. Draco paused and searched her face for any deceit. He licked his lips nervously before continuing, “You’re lying.” 

She pried his hand off of her mouth, sucking in a panicked breath.

“I’m  _ not _ lying, Malfoy,” she whispered, looking at him with the kind of fear that couldn’t be falsified. “I don’t have yours. I don’t even have mine! I thought you had them!”

“Then we’re….” he began, the astronomical weight of their situation pressing against his chest. 

“We’re trapped,” she finished gravely, giving voice to her fear for the first time since she had woken up. Saying it aloud suddenly made it more real than it had been before. She was trapped on a doomed ship with the person she loathed the most in the world. 

“This has got to be some sort of bloody joke,” he spat, clenching her forearm tighter in his grasp. She cried out in pain.

“It’s not!” She insisted, trying to jerk out of his grasp. 

“Oi!” Someone called and Draco turned just in time to see a fist flying towards his face. It slammed into his cheek. His head erupted into pain as stars swam around his vision. The young wizard couldn’t see much, but he felt two meaty hands clamp onto his shirt. He shoved his attacker away roughly. The man stumbled back as Hermione cried out for them to stop.

“No! Don’t hurt him!”

Draco knew he had to get out of there, and fast: he launched himself over the side of the guardrails onto the third class decks below. He landed roughly on the wood, his knees buckling below him ungracefully. The people around him gasped and shrieked in horror, but he ignored them, his head still spinning from the blow to the face. 

“He’s there, officers!” A voice called above him and two patrolling sailors were peering over the edge of the deck, batons and whistles ready.  _ Fuck.  _

Scrambling to his feet, Draco’s worn boots searched for purchase on the ship’s surface. As soon as he was upright, he took off across the deck, weaving through confused onlookers as the crewmen above shouted and attempted to follow him from the upper deck. To throw them off of his path, he dashed into the first hallway that he came across. As he rushed past multiple rooms, Draco glanced through a door, catching sight of some cryptic muggle activity involving linen and water. He found another hallway, and another, attempting to lose himself among the muggle-made maze of corridors and polished glass.

When he felt he had created enough distance between his pursuers and himself, he glanced quickly behind to ensure that nobody was watching him before wrenching open the nearest door and stuffing himself inside. A single glowing orb suspended from the ceiling told him that he had found his way into some sort of… broom closet? His heart soared momentarily at the thought of mounting the nearest broom and leaving this whole nightmare behind--but then Draco remembered that muggles used brooms as well. For cleaning the ceiling, was it? Whatever it was the muggles did with them, Draco doubted very much that they were crafted with the numerous charms and spells that went into a flying broom.

Disregarding this distraction, he surveyed the glowing orb in search of some way to turn it off. Draco gave it a careful prod with his finger, only to yank back his finger with a hiss as the orb singed his flesh. Shooting the thing a glare, he then noticed a sort of tail hanging from it. Carefully, he reached up and--batting at it once to ensure that it wouldn’t burn him as well--gave it a careful tug. The orb blinked off. Draco could help but let out a sigh of relief.  _ These muggles will be the death of me, _ he thought darkly.

Nestling himself in among the  _ muggle _ brooms and assorted gadgetry, Draco sat and listened intently, waiting for either the sounds of pursuit or for his racing heart to slow down to a more leisurely pace, whichever one happened first. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter!!! Going strong!!! You all can expect regular updates for a while since I have 26k words written lol. Let me know what you think! It'll inspire me to edit and post sooner.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione Granger rubbed at her arm, wincing at the light bruising that was already forming from Draco’s tight hold. The men before her were discussing a plan of action as she sat by, allowing herself to be comforted by another first class woman who had witnessed the whole ordeal. The woman patted her hair and pulled her into a hug. 

“Quite a bold move to come up here in the first place,” one of the sailors said, jotting some notes down in a leather bound notebook. “Blonde hair, slight build… Did anyone see his the color of his eyes?”

“Brown.”Hermione said quickly, surprising herself with a lie. 

“I wouldn’t call it a bold move,” another sailor refuted, “it was bloody foolish.” The man was pacing around the posh officer’s cabin that they had quickly ushered her into after the events of the morning, his boots making soft squeaks on the polished floor as he pivoted.

“But what did he want with her?” The third officer wondered, twirling his curled mustache between two fingers.

“What do you think he wanted?” The woman holding Hermione in her arms hissed from tight lips, “ _ those _ kind of men only want one thing.”

Hermione pulled away from the strange woman. The whole situation was being blown out of proportion, but she didn’t know how to diffuse it… She just knew she had to try. 

“It really wasn’t anything,” Hermione stressed, “He was just… He was confusing me for someone else he knew.” 

The crowd before her stared in disbelief. She realized how strange it must have sounded: a first class girl was accosted by a third class ruffian and afterwards she comes to his defense? It must have been quite unheard of.

“He hurt you, miss,” the man who had punched Draco piped up. Hermione turned her gaze to him, he seemed to be a kind but surprisingly burly servant. “I heard you cry in pain. He should be found and punished.”

“He didn’t, really,” she continued, hiding her arm behind her back. “He just surprised me. That’s why I called out… He thought I was someone named Hermione… I don’t know who she is, but he seems quite smitten with her, he was trying to convince me to take him back.” She wished someone was around who knew her and Malfoy and could catch the humor in her lie. It was the most absurd thing she could have said, but it alleviated some of her inner stress to make such a joke. 

They all stood for several heartbeats and blinked, some in confusion and others in disbelief. 

“I don’t want to press charges,” she stated firmly, “I’d rather just forget about this whole thing and enjoy the rest of my voyage not having to worry about some silly manhunt.”

Hermione wasn’t sure why she was trying so hard to clear his name. After everything he had done to her and what he had put her through, she supposed she should let him be arrested for trespassing and assault. Merlin, she should watch gleefully as he was taken down in handcuffs… he was even a Death Eater! But she just found she couldn’t. No matter how much she hated him and wished he didn’t exist, he was her only tie back to her world and her time. Without him, she was truly and utterly alone on this doomed ship.

It was his fault that they had ended up in this situation in the first place, but Hermione knew that she couldn’t throw him under the bus. He would be locked up or kept in a room somewhere and he would surely go down with the ship. He wouldn’t even stand a chance without his wand…

Draco Malfoy was a snivelling, conniving, and loathsome ferret, but he didn’t deserve to meet such a gruesome end. No one did. Her stomach churned as she looked around at all of the souls whose lights would be snuffed out in just a few days time. She knew that there wasn’t much that one girl with an overbearing (and downright violent) mother could do to help prevent the coming catastrophe, and Merlin knew if she was even capable of affecting events that had already occurred, but Hermione simply couldn’t stomach the idea of doing nothing as the inevitable iceberg floated ever closer. As the others in the room continued talking, Hermione thought frantically about any possible way that she could contact the captain and convince him to listen to her.

. . . 

“What on earth were you thinkin’ chasing her down like that, Nick?” Hamish groaned, rubbing at his face. They were all crammed in the corridor outside of their room. Draco held a wet cloth to his cheek right below his eye, wishing he could cast a healing spell, or at least have some real bloody ice. 

“He was thinkin’ with the wrong head, that’s what,” Tommy said, nudging Sam with his elbow, who grinned devilishly in response.

“Shut up,” Draco snapped, “It wasn’t like that.” 

The three men erupted into laughter.

“We saw the hearts in your eyes,” Sam chuckled and continued in his charming American accent, “you don’t have to pretend.”

Tommy clasped his hands in front of him, swooning unsteadily on his feet in a teasing mockery of Draco’s first impression of Hermione. Hamish made kissy noises and sighed dreamily before they all erupted into raucous laughter. 

Draco swallowed. Had there really been hearts in his eyes? Well, figuratively- he knew of course- but he supposed he had felt a flash of attraction and interest toward her before she had known who she was… The idea of that caused a strange stir in his stomach. 

“It’s nothing now,” Draco said, leaning against the wall that smelled sharply of fresh paint. He wouldn’t be surprised if, when he peeled himself off, he pulled some of the pigment away with him. “I won’t be able to go near her again, they’ll be watching for me.” 

Of course, Malfoy wouldn’t have a reason to go near her again, since she didn’t have his wand and he didn’t have hers. They were both royally fucked, and she’d made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want anything to do with him. After all, in this world, she was a first class princess and he was a bloody street rat. So he was on his own, he realized with a strange disappointment.

“You’re lucky that they aren’t down here right now, combing through every single bunk,” Tommy stated, clapping a reassuring hand on Draco’s shoulder. “To chase after a girl of her breed is practically a death sentence. You’ve been touched by an angel.” 

“You got lucky,” Hamish agreed, blotting at his sweaty neck with a handkerchief. “I thought for sure that the next time I saw you, you’d be in chains.”

“Alright, alright,” Draco said, shrugging Tommy’s hand off from his shoulder. “I get it. I’m lucky.” He pulled the damp cloth away to show his travelling companions the bruising. They all collectively tried to hide their winces. “… How bad is it?”

“Not bad!” Sam said through his teeth.

“Could be much worse,” Tommy shrugged, looking at the ceiling.

“It’s alright, really,” Hamish nodded vigorously.

Draco rolled his eyes. He must have looked like hell. 

“This might as well have happened,” he sighed in frustration. He had failed his mission and lost his place in his family in the process. He had taken Granger hostage and foolishly dumped the both of them into that pensive-like object in the hopes of a getaway, but had doomed himself to a life of poor anonymity in America. For the first time since he landed, he truly pondered the rules of this world. 

Had he truly fallen back in time? Or was this some sort of a simulation? Or perhaps this was a regular pensive and this was nothing but a memory, like his grandad had collected throughout his life. Draco had snuck away a few times to delve into his grandfather’s memories, but those experiences had been nothing like this.

A regular pensieve held and displayed memories through a foggy lens. Yes, you could at times feel as though you were in the room or within the world itself, but you most certainly could not interact with the subjects inside of the memory, nor were you actually physically there. Draco touched gingerly at his swelling skin, hissing in pain.

He was  _ absolutely  _ physically there. 

“Now, don’t go proddin’ at it,” Hamish chastised, pulling Draco’s hand away, “you’ll make it worse.”

Suppressing the inevitable twinge of disgust at being touched by a muggle, Draco watched Hamish wearily as he continued to converse with the two men, devising a plan to obtain some medication and ice from the ship physician without raising any suspicion. He thought for a bit about the men before him. These people were muggles through and through, but they didn’t seem like some sort of simulation or memory. They reacted to changes organically and seemed to be fully autonomous. 

And then there was the amount of detail in this world. Everything was meticulously thought-out and displayed in front of him with the kind of clarity that could only exist in real life. The sharp smell of the polish on the wood, the miniscule vibrations of the ship working tirelessly below his feet, the vibrancy of the blue sky and the vast ocean, and the thousands of people aboard, all with their own stories and lives and souls. If this was a simulated spell, it was a damn good one. He couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of all that he had almost certainly lost. Draco had a sneaking suspicion that he was truly aboard the RMS Titanic, bound for a life of mediocrity in the USA.

. . .

Thankfully, news of Hermione’s near assault hadn’t reached Annabelle’s Mother’s circle of gossip even by nightfall. The hawk-like woman hadn’t brought it up yet, and they were already half way through their impossibly extravagant dinner. Hermione sat upright, her feet tucked delicately beneath her chair as she stared passively at her plate. The poached salmon was drizzled with some sort of savory sauce and looked absolutely decadent, but she couldn’t bring herself to taste it. How could she possibly eat? Her whole world had been flipped upside down, neither Draco nor her had their wands to escape, and she was a hundred years in the past on the most famous doomed vessel in the world…. and above it all, she missed Harry, Ron, and her other friends.

“Martha, if your daughter doesn’t eat anything she’s sure to wither away to nothing,” one of the finely dressed women told her, and Hermione looked up in alarm. it took her a moment to realize that Annabelle’s mother was named  _ Martha.  _ Strange.

They had been blathering on and on about some John Jacob Astor and his young pregnant wife. Apparently it was quite the scandal, but Hermione couldn’t care less; it was pointless gossip, and not only did it numb her brain and cause her to completely lose interest in conversation, but it hurt her heart as well to know that this was a woman’s entire world in this era. 

To do nothing but gossip at tea time, gossip at lunch, gossip during their afternoon strolls, and gossip at dinner? What kind of life was that? No working, no studying, no inventing, and no creating? Not even Pansy Parkinson herself could ever dish out so much judgement and spite about the women around her.   
Hermione spluttered for an answer, caught completely off guard, but her mother cut her off.

“Annabelle had a… fainting spell this morning,” Her mother said, careful to choose her wording wisely. “Perhaps it’s better if she doesn’t eat.”

“That’s nonsense!” An American voice piped up from across the table and Hermione’s attention narrowed in on the thick, jovial looking woman across the way. She gave hermione a wink, “A growing girls’ gotta eat! Otherwise she’s nothin’ but a toothpick.”

A spark of realization coursed through Hermione’s body as she put two and two together: she had recognized this woman when she first sat down but hadn’t realized where! This was Molly Brown,  _ The Unsinkable _ Molly Brown. The woman who single-handedly took charge of her lifeboat and instructed the sailors aboard to redistribute the women and go search for survivors. Hermione found herself star-struck. She was one of Hermione’s many female historical heroes. 

She searched for words, but once again, found none. 

“If a girl eats too much then she gets a bit too thick,” Martha said, side eyeing Molly, “isn’t that right, Margaret?”

Hermione bristled at the insult thrown Molly’s way. She made eye contact with the woman who was supposed to be her mother, and very pointedly reached out and picked up one of the three forks before her and dug into the salmon with vigor. Her mother’s icy stare penetrated Hermione’s soul. 

“See? She knows what's good for her,” Molly chuckled, and she could feel the woman’s warmth and affection all the way across the table. “Eat up, Annabelle. You need your strength for your journey.”

“Thank you, Molly,” Hermione said after swallowing the most delicious bite of salmon that had ever graced her tongue. “Are you happy to be returning to America?”

“Oh, I’m just tickled,” she said, “my children are waiting for me. Although they’re grown now. I think my daughter is just a little younger than you, Anna.”

“Isn’t your husband waiting for as well you?” Her mother asked in a knowing tone, piercing eyes swinging to narrow in on the American woman. 

Molly shifted in her seat uncomfortably, but met the woman’s gaze evenly. 

“No, J.J. and I are separated as of a few years ago,” she said truthfully, but smiled before taking a sip of her red wine, “but it’s alright, I’ve got my children, my spirits, and a good share of our fortune.” 

Hermione couldn’t contain her smile. What a firecracker of a woman. She hadn’t gotten to know a whole lot of Americans in her time- close to none, actually- but she had a certain feeling that she would like them a whole lot if they were anything like Molly Brown. 

“Annabelle, you have a husband waiting for you in America, don’t you?” A man piped up, and Hermione recognized him as one of the men in charge of the titanic. He had the face of a rat with an absurdly fancy mustache. 

“I..” Hermione began, blinking rapidly, suddenly remembering a man.. What was his name? It was something stupid, like Manston. Or Winfred… Merlin, she couldn’t remember, “Yes, I’m going to New York to meet.. Uh- my fiance, Wilson.” 

“ _ Winston, _ ” her mother hissed from beside her, reaching down to pinch Hermione’s arm. The sudden and sharp pain took her off guard and she jumped in her seat.

“Winston! My mistake,” Hermione quickly corrected herself, but the damage had been done. There was an uncomfortable shift in the atmosphere of the table, everyone passing glances between one another.  _ What kind of a society girl couldn’t recall the name of her own wealthy fiance?  _

“Boy! That fainting spell must’ve knocked his name right outta your head!” Molly said and grinned, releasing some of the pent up tension in the group. They all chuckled lightly, relieved at the break in atmosphere. 

“Well, I do believe it’s time for my daughter and I to retire to our quarters,” her mother said sternly, gently pressing the white napkin to the corners of her mouth before refolding it and placing it delicately beside her porcelain plate. It was then that she wrapped her wiry fingers around Hermione’s elbow and quite literally yanked her up out of her seat. “Goodnight, everyone.” 

The young witch had to actively stifle her gasp of pain. She looked in alarm to the woman’s wrinkled face puckered with displeasure down to the iron grip on her arm… What kind of mother would handle her daughter in such a way? 

She was  _ hurting _ her, squeezing so intensely that she would undoubtedly have bruises in the morning. Her poor arm would just be speckled with bruises after dealing with Draco and her mother all day… Hermione’s stomach began to twist with a sense of doom. What kind of relationship did Annabelle and her mother have?

“Don’t be rude, Annabelle. Tell them goodnight,” the woman hissed, an unpleasant smile tugging at the corners of her wrinkled mouth. 

“Goodnight,” Hermione whispered to the table, a few faces gazed back at her in concern while the rest turned their eyes to their plates. They all could see what was happening… and no one would do anything. From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see her mother’s manservant, Horace, move from his place standing by the ornate pillar off to the side. He was going to follow them up. She swallowed roughly. 

“Sleep tight, Annabelle,” Molly Brown piped up from her end of the table, eyes searching Hermione’s apprehensive expression and the tight hold on her elbow. “We’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow, won’t we?” 

Hermione looked at Martha. The woman nodded tightly. 

“You’ll see her tomorrow…  _ If _ she feels better, of course,” she said. 

. . .

The third class mess hall was a cacophony of body heat, boisterous laughter, empty plates, and the heady scent of dark beer. Draco Malfoy glanced down at his plate of food: a meager portion of potatoes, some unidentifiable vegetables, and a particularly grainy looking piece of bread that had already grown cold. His stomach rumbled unpleasantly… He had skipped lunch, and hadn’t had anything to eat back in his time either. He carefully picked up the fork beside his plate and stabbed into a piece of potato before jamming it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed quickly, not allowing himself to even taste anything.

He would eat. But he wouldn’t like it. 

“There ya go,” Hamish said, face flushed from the alcohol that had started flowing about twenty minutes prior. He grinned at his friend. “I was worried about ya not eating.”

“Glad to see you have your appetite back,” Tommy said, offering out his glass of beer. “Cheers! To Nick’s health!” 

“To Nick’s health!” Sam and Hamish cried, giving him good-natured smiles. Draco couldn’t help the warmth that rushed to his cheeks. No one had ever wished for his good health like this before… 

He swallowed another bite before lifting up his glass of water to clink it against the three of theirs. They all downed their drinks with alarming speed. The young wizard watched in fascination as Hamish finished the entire pint in less than ten seconds. 

“You sure you don’t want a beer?” Sam asked, “I’m gonna go get us another round.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his black eye throbbing painfully, “thank you, but I’ll pass.” 

He wasn’t about to get drunk in such a precarious situation, especially with the ship’s watchmen looking out for him. He kept finding himself glancing at the stairs down to the mess hall wearily. He could almost see Hermione Granger gliding down the staircase in her silk gown flanked by two sailors, scanning the crowd for him and pointing him out. He’d be absolutely fucked if that were to happen… So he had to keep his wits about him. 

“Are you sure?” Tommy pressed, speaking loudly to cut through the loud din of the hall, “you could use a beer after the day you’ve had.”

“I’m really alright,” Draco called back. “I’m going to head off to bed anyways.”

“Really?” Sam asked.

“At least eat the rest of your food!” Hamish chastised, pointing a meaty finger at Draco’s half eaten dinner. 

“Okay,” he mumbled and shoveled the rest of the potatoes and vegetables into his mouth. The three of them watched him as he finished his food in record time.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food, standing up and waving.

“Night,” they all chorused.

As Draco made his way up the stairs, he realized he wasn’t quite ready for bed. His racing mind wouldn’t let him rest anytime soon. All he knew was that he wanted to be alone. He made his way to the third class decks instead, grabbing the nearest wool coat off of the hooks to his left. 

. . . 

Hermione was quite literally thrown into her bedroom, she stumbled on her heels and cried out in pain when her hip connected with the sharp corner of her vanity.

“Did our conversation before lunch mean nothing to you?” Her mother asked, ignoring her pained shout. “What did you promise me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hermione whispered, clutching at her hip. Horace stepped into the room behind her mother and closed the door behind him with a menacing click. She was trapped. 

“You  _ promised _ that you wouldn’t embarrass me again,” Martha snapped, jabbing an accusing finger at the Gryffindor girl. Despite the elegant white gloves dawning the woman's hands, her fingers looked strangely akin to claws. 

“I didn’t intend to embarrass-” Hermione tried to placate the woman. 

“So you just happened to forget Winston’s name?” She spat back.

“Yes!” She snapped.

Her mother crossed the room in a few quick strides, pulling off one of her white gloves. Hermione’s quick eye and mind registered the slight movement and saw what was coming. But when she tried to block the woman’s attack, she didn’t make it in time and a sharp hand struck her face. 

She stumbled back in shock. 

No one…  _ No one _ had ever hit her before. It stunned her into silence. 

“Don’t you dare mock the only thing that will save our name and our family,” her mother said, voice trembling with rage and emotion. “Winston will be your husband and our provider. We owe everything to him. You will respect him and his name.” 

Hermione stared back dumbly, her hand pressing against her throbbing cheek. Her mother moved to sit on the edge of Hermione’s bed, sighing dramatically and rubbing at her face. Horace watched passively from the doorway. A few tense moments passed before Hermione’s shock took a backseat to her anger. She seemed to forget who she was once again, her hand dropping to her side. 

“How could you?” The words left her lips before she knew what she was saying. “How could you strike your own daughter?” 

The woman turned in shock and watched as Hermione stood straight as a board and tilted her chin in the air.

“Now I understand... You strike her. You hit her and abuse her. You scare her with threats of poverty and physical violence… Just because you’re afraid of losing a bit of wealth and relevancy,” she said, clenching her fists together. She thought of Annabelle. A young girl, no autonomy, no voice… raised by this monster into being nothing but a pawn to be married off to the first wealthy man who stops by. She didn’t know her worth because of the monster perched atop the edge of her bed. 

But Hermione knew Annabelle’s worth, and she would stop the abuse then and there.

“You can’t hurt her anymore,” The young witch stated, crossing the room to the door. Horace stood in the doorframe. “Move out of my way.” 

“Shall I, Madame?” Horace asked, stalking menacingly towards her. Hermione’s heart stopped and she looked over her shoulder to her mother’s indifferent face. She shrugged passively.

“I suppose,” she sighed, pulling her white glove back on. “But do try to avoid her face.” 

. . . 

Draco was lying down on one of the uncomfortable wooden benches on the third class decks, arms crossed beneath his head, listening to the crashing waves and gazing up at the innumerable amount of stars dusting the inky black sky. He never really took the time to look at the stars in his life back home, but here, on this ship… He didn’t really have much else to do. It was either this or try to push his way through the sweaty, boisterous crowd back to his group. He guessed the other option was go to bed, but he didn’t know if he could even find his room at this point. This ship was enormous and it was too easy to get lost in the winding corridors. 

He was deep in his thoughts of home and America when racing footsteps caught his attention. The click of heels against the deck was characteristically feminine, but that wasn’t what piqued his interest: it was the speed in which the clicks came and went that rang a mental alarm bell. He sat up just in time to see Hermione Granger race past him, face flushed and tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hair was falling from her elegant updo, messy strands of brown curls falling into her face, and her labored sobs turned to vapor as soon as they hit the frigid night air. Despite the freezing temperatures, she was donned in nothing but her shimmering midnight blue gown, not a coat in sight. 

He gawked for a moment, watching as she ran towards the bow of the ship, her soft sobs eventually being swallowed by the sounds of the wind. 

What was happening? Why was she so upset? 

He hadn’t expected to see her for the rest of the voyage, let alone  _ that very night  _ and in such a distraught way. It was surreal. Hermione Granger was almost always the picture perfect image of a girl in control of her emotions… To see her in such a state of distress was unnerving. 

After the initial shock of witnessing such a strange sight faded away, he reminded himself firmly that he didn’t care what was going on with her or why she was crying. He settled back down onto the bench, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring up at the night sky.

What on Salazar’s earth was she even sobbing about? She had been placed in the best life possible purely by luck. The Gryffindor girl had essentially won a lottery: she was a first class heiress, set for a wealthy life in the United States where she would surely make a name for herself. She was infuriating. 

Her distraught expression flashed through his mind's eye once more and he ground his teeth together. The look in her eyes had been one of pure desperation. It was the look of a woman who would do just about anything to escape her situation. She was going to do something stupid tonight, he could tell. 

Fuck. 

He sat up and spun until his feet were planted firmly on the deck. He had to do something. 

When he found Hermione he was shocked to find her in an even worse state than he had expected: she had climbed over the guardrails of the bow and was letting herself dangle precariously over the raging ocean below. All that tethered her to the ship was one hand, with which she held the frosted rail loosely. What was she going to do? Let herself go and drown in the icy Atlantic?

“Really, Granger?” He asked, rolling his eyes. He stayed a few feet back, not wanting to alarm her. She looked over her shoulder, clouded eyes meeting his. 

“Don’t come any closer, Malfoy,” she choked out, turning back around to gaze at the churning depths below.

“You couldn’t pay me to get any closer to the edge of this monstrosity,” he rolled off. “What? You think I want to slip overboard? No thank you.” 

“Go away,” she said and Draco had to strain to hear, inching closer. He could hardly hear her voice, most of the sound was snatched by the wind and buried in the waves. “I don’t want you here.” 

“And what exactly are you trying to accomplish by doing this?” He asked. 

“I need to get back home.” Her shoulders began to shake again as sobs coursed through her body. “I can’t stay here.”

“You think killing yourself will accomplish that?” 

“Maybe… I don’t know, but I have to try something,” she said, and Malfoy saw her let her grip on the guardrail slip a little further. His heart jumped in his chest. Oh, Salazar. She really was about to do something so stupid… He had to try and get her back onto the ship, or she’d fall and leave him all alone in this foreign time on this stupid boat. 

“You don’t want to do that,” he said and began to inch forward… slowly, so slowly. 

“Why not?” She asked, and he could hear the resigned tone of her voice, “we’re probably still back in the Ministry of Magic… Maybe all we need to do is wake up.” 

“Haven’t you been paying attention, Granger?” He asked loudly, very clearly chastising her, “for the Brightest Witch of Our Age you’re being a massive knob head.”

“What?” She asked, glaring over her shoulder. It seemed as though the Gryffindor girl couldn’t help but bristle at the insult. Draco felt a small moment of triumph, it was working. He was pulling her away. 

“When I got punched earlier _ it hurt.  _ Can’t you feel the wind on your face? Can’t you taste the food they serve us?” He snapped, “this isn’t a bloody pensieve we can just fall right in and out of… This is  _ real life.” _

“I’ve never been in a pensieve-”

“But I know you’ve read about them,” he said, finally reaching the edge of the bow and placing a hand on the guardrail right beside hers. It was freezing to the touch. He shivered. “They aren’t like this. You know they aren’t. I’ve been in my grandfather’s pensieve and it couldn’t hold a candle to this magic. This is real, Granger. You die here, you die for real.” 

Draco Malfoy didn’t know if this was actually the case, but he didn’t want to risk it. He also didn’t stop to think about why he was trying so desperately to keep her aboard and alive… He didn’t have time to delve into it.

“But we’re trapped, and it’s your bloody fault!”

She had him there. The only reason they were trapped on this godforsaken ship was because he had accidentally dragged her into the portal with him. He floundered for words, but nothing came out.

“There’s no escape,” she whimpered after a moment, “this ship, it’s doomed…”

“It’s a muggle nightmare, yes, but it’s not so bad. We’re going to the United States- which is frankly the last place I want to go- but it’s not like we’re on a ship to hell,” he peered over the edge at the raging water being churned violently about by the massive propellers. He shuddered inwardly. It looked fucking freezing.

“You don’t know?” She asked quietly and Draco looked up at her, meeting her doe-like gaze evenly. He watched her shocked expression as her brown curls whipped in the wind and steam escaped from her slightly parted lips.

“Don’t know what?” he asked, searching her face. The sudden change of tone, her intense focus zeroing in on him... What was she talking about? 

“About this ship? The Titanic?” 

“No, why would I know anything about the Titanic? I’m not a muggle. I’m not a blood traitor,” he told her firmly, trying to keep her focused on the task at hand, “now will you please come back over the rail before I freeze to death waiting on you?” 

Hermione swallowed, staring hard at his face, then back down at the raging ocean below her, and then once more back up to him. Her mind seemed to be sorting and weighing out the different scenarios of what could go down that night. She closed her eyes and breathed a trembling sigh.

“Okay,” she whispered, shaking her head, “help me over, please.” 

Draco released a shaky breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. Hermione maneuvered herself slowly until she was facing him. 

“Your face…” she murmured, noticing his black eye for the first time.

“It looks worse than it feels,” he said, shrugging in a show of uncharacteristic dismissal. Typically he would have milked any sort of pity he could have received, but he didn’t feel the desire this time around.

“I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,” she whispered.

“That’s funny, because I also didn’t want to get hurt,” he admitted and her lips turned up into a wry smile. It was then that the young Slytherin realized how close to one another they were and that she was  _ smiling, _ of all things. Draco Malfoy had somehow coaxed a smile from Hermione Granger. Hell had frozen over, probably. “Besides, the one you gave me in third year was far worse than this.”

She reached out her free hand. After a moment of slight hesitation, Draco held it with his own. It was surprisingly warm compared to the icy ocean wind, not to mention quite soft. He squeezed tightly in support as she lifted her foot from one guardrail to the other-

-and suddenly slipped, a terrified scream ripping from her throat. His arm was nearly yanked out of his socket as he clamped down on her. He reached both hands down and tried to find a good hold to hoist her up.

“Oh Merlin! Malfoy!” 

“Granger! Fuck! Hold on!” He cried through gritted teeth. She clawed at his sleeves and hands as her feet dangled in the open air. 

“Help me!” She screamed, her shriek piercing the night air. 

“I’m trying!”

A few terrifying moments passed before he finally got a good enough hold to heave her upwards, his abs and biceps working overtime to pull her up and over the guardrails. 

They collapsed atop the wooden deck with a hard thud, Draco landing right on top of Hermione. They breathed heavily in tandem with one another, and Draco could feel her trembling uncontrollably below him. They gazed at one another in shock. 

Draco Malfoy, a mere 24 hours after threatening to kill Hermione Granger in the drafty halls of the Ministry of Magic, had just saved her from plummeting to an icy, bitter end. 

Before either of them even had a moment to register what had just happened, and the position they had ended up in, the slaps of boots on the deck announced that two crewmen on their nightly rounds had heard the commotion. They had their whistles and batons ready, and Draco looked down at their entangled bodies in what looked like some sort of indecent attack on Granger’s womanhood…. or something fucking stupid like that. 

“You stay back!” one of the sailors cried, “and don’t move an inch!” 

“Brilliant,” Draco groaned and rolled off of the Gryffindor girl. How many times in one day could he get into trouble because of this bloody witch? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story, please review you guys! It literally makes my day and inspires me so much to keep going. If you want to read more and want faster updates, it’s simply in your best interest to let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

“It wasn’t what you think it was,” Hermione said for the hundredth time, watching in despair as a pair of cuffs was placed on Draco’s wrists, locking shut with a grating series of clicks. He glared up at the night sky in annoyance.

“Are these silver? I tend not to wear any jewelry made from anything less pure,” he snarked at the group of watchmen.

“ _ Ferret,”  _ Hermione hissed, just low enough and obscure enough that no one could understand what she was saying. But they both knew what she meant:  _ “stop talking you insufferable git, I’m trying to save you.”  _

“Sorry, miss,” one of the guards said. It was the same man who had found them earlier in the day after her and Draco’s first tussle. “This is the second time in the day that someone of his description was caught trying to take advantage of you.” 

“It’s not the same man,” Hermione insisted, “that man had brown eyes. Look at him! His eyes are grey. Clearly distinguishable. Additionally, he wasn’t trying to take advantage of me.”

“He was on top of you, we heard you scream!” The second guard accused.

It was then that Draco looked at Hermione and gave her a wicked grin and a wink. Hermione’s face flushed, and she briefly considered letting him take the fall after such a bold, pig headed move. 

“His eye is black too, how did you get that? Huh? Probably doing something that got you into trouble,” the main sailor said, glowering at the Slytherin boy.

“I assure you this is all a big misunderstanding,” she soothed, standing between the two men, “I was standing on the edge to get a look at the propellers… and uh- I slipped!” 

“You slipped?” 

“The edge is quite slick, and I couldn’t see them. It seems as though I leaned over a bit too far and without Drac-” She caught herself, “this man...”

She looked at Draco, realizing that she didn’t know what his name was supposed to be in this time… 

“I’m sorry sir, I never caught your name,” she said and he looked at her in surprise. He furrowed his eyebrows, seemingly caught off guard.

“It’s… uh… Nick,” he mumbled, and then under his breath, _ “or something..” _

“Nick was there just in time to catch me! That’s all that happened,” she finished. Hoping to Merlin that they would believe her. “So let him go, he’s not guilty of anything except being in the right place at the right time to save my life. He deserves better than to be falsely accused of attacking me. He’s a hero.” 

Draco was staring at her in a way that made her blush once more. What? Couldn’t she be a little bit thankful? Yes, perhaps she was laying it on a bit thick in her attempt to prevent him from being jailed, but it was the kindest, most selfless thing he had ever done… and if you had told her a few years ago that one day Draco Malfoy would save her life with no obvious personal gain inspiring him, she would have told Luna to check your head for Nargles.

The guards looked at one another before slowly retrieving the key to his handcuffs and letting his wrists free. He stretched them high above his head and grinned at the sailors.

“Thanks boys. At ease,” he rolled off, in a drawl that no longer matched his unkempt appearance at all. Hermione wished she had her wand so she could curse him; he couldn’t play humble to save his life. 

“Anna!” A familiar bell of a voice rang out. Hermione turned just in time to receive an armful of Lottie. The young girl’s hug would have been quite enjoyable if not for the burning pain in her ribs. Stars swam in her vision as the sharp stab traveled through her chest. 

“Lottie, be careful,” She breathed before stepping away and putting distance between the two of them. She had to take a moment as the wave of throbbing pain coursed through her. She clutched at the sore spot, choking back tears and despairing. She must have had several cracked ribs.

“Are you okay? I came as soon I heard,” she cried, glancing at Draco and the sailors wearily. 

“What did you hear?” 

“That you were in some kind of trouble!” she said, “I was so worried when Horace told me.”

At that name Hermione jerked to attention, scanning the bow of the ship for— there! Beside the pillar next to the nearest entrance inside the ship: Horace. A cold sweat broke across her entire body, the dull throb of her side suddenly becoming as fresh as the moment his boot had crashed against it. Had he followed her down? How long had had he been watching? 

“Lottie, I can’t go back with that man,” she whispered, low enough that only the two of them could hear.

“Did he hurt you again?” She whimpered back, glancing fearfully over her shoulder. Hermione said nothing in response, not breaking eye contact with the man who had pushed her to the breaking point in less than two minutes. She wondered where Lottie had been off to while Horace had… she shuddered, unable to even finish the thought.

“What did you do?” Lottie said, breaking Hermione’s concentration. She looked in alarm to the young maid. What had  _ she _ done? Nothing! Nothing but stand up for herself and Annabelle. 

It was then that the towering man pushed off from his resting place on the wall and walked toward her. Hermione couldn’t help but take a few steps back, a cold chill that had nothing to do with the cutting wind traveling down her spine. 

“Evening, gentlemen,” he greeted the three sailors, his voice sending a wave of panic through Hermione. The three sailors looked like they wanted nothing more than to turn in for the night and warm up, and Horace seemed to sense that. He continued in a personable tone: “I’m Miss Annabelle’s guardian. I can take it from here.”

“Right! Everything seems to be in order then,” said the main sailor before he tilted his hat in respect, “goodnight, Miss. Do be more careful when looking down the hull from now on.”

As the watchmen made their way back to their post, Hermione’s stomach twisted in fear. She wanted them to stay, but her voice seemed to have disappeared. 

“Everything will be alright,” Lottie whispered into her ear, “we just have to do as he says.”

“Are you going to stand there whispering all night or are you going to introduce me to this..” Horace looked at Draco, who had been watching the whole interaction with a glazed over look of disinterest, “...boy?”

“No,” Hermione murmured, mouth suddenly dry, “let’s just go back.”

“Yes, Horace,” Lottie agreed, wrapping her arms around Hermione’s shoulders, “she’s been through quite a lot tonight, we need to get her warm in bed.”

“Hold on just a moment,” he muttered in his grumbling baritone voice, “I haven’t gotten the chance to thank your savior.”

“I’m all ears,” Draco drawled. If he sensed any sort of the unease in the air, he didn’t give any indication. 

“Thank you for saving our sweet Annabelle from falling overboard,” Horace said and offered his hand out to Draco, who did nothing but gaze at it in displeasure. “Is there anything we can do to repay you?”

“An all expense paid evening in the first class lounge should start to cover it,” Draco stated, looking the man in the eye. He was challenging him.  _ Oh, Merlin. _ She shook her head at the Slytherin boy, pleading inwardly for him to stop while he was ahead. 

That seemed to take the manservant by surprise. It wasn’t every day a third class laborer would act so haughtily. He looked down his crooked nose at Draco, taking a moment to size the boy up. Hermione wanted to run in the opposite direction, unsure of how the man would react. She had already been at the hands of his relentless anger once that night, she wasn’t sure if she could handle even witnessing it a second time. 

“You’ve got quite the sense of humor,” Horace finally said, seeming to sense Draco’s challenge and rising to the occasion. “I’m sure Annabelle’s mother would love to sit down with you over supper.”

“Brilliant,” Draco said.

“What was your name again?” 

“Nicholas,” he told the man and Hermione wished that he would just stop talking. Didn’t he realize that he was just playing into the older man’s hand? 

“Well, Nicholas,” Horace said, “I hope you have something a little bit more suitable to wear than those rags. Unfortunately, there is a dress code.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.”

. . .

“Yeh did what?” A bedraggled Hamish gawked from his bottom bunk. He watched the young Slytherin pace restlessly back and forth in the candle-lit space between the two sets of bunks in their designated quarters. 

“Lied and said that I had access to a suit, keep up,” Draco snapped. “We need to find one. Now.” 

“Yeh saved that girl? That same girl from earlier?”

“Yes! I saved her from going overboard, they asked how they could repay me, and I told them a dinner in the first class lounge would suffice!” He recapped impatiently, voice raising.   
“Shhhhh!” One of the Italians hissed from beneath his blanket. 

“Fuck off!” Draco snarled. 

“Nicholas!” Hamish stressed, eyes flicking from his pacing companion to their two roommates before he hoisted himself up and out of bed. The beefy Scot grabbed Draco by the collar of his shirt and yanked the smaller boy out of the room and shut the door behind them.

“Stop man-handling me!” Malfoy growled, straightening his shirt in annoyance.

“Fer the last time, stop bloody yellin’ at everyone!” The Scottish man stressed, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know who yeh think yeh are lately, but the next fight ye start I won’t help yeh get out of.” 

“Can we please focus on the task at hand?” 

“What task? Yeh lied! There is no task!” 

“We need to find some formal wear so that I don’t look like a bloody idiot at dinner tomorrow night!” 

“That sounds like a  _ Nicholas  _ kind of problem,” Hamish leveled with Draco, shaking his head in bewilderment. “I’m glad that yeh got to that girl in time to save her, but yeh shouldn’t have pretended yer someone yer not.” 

_ But it is me. I’m not pretending,  _ he despaired inwardly. 

Draco swallowed hard, watching his companion for several moments before running his fingers through his wavy platinum tresses. He hated to admit it, but Hamish was right. He didn’t know why he had lied about already having suitable formal wear, and it definitely wasn’t anyone else’s problem but his.

He supposed he had made such a bold claim because of his damn pride… The way that man..  _ Horace, had  _ spoken to him had made Draco want to break his knees and force feed him dirt. Or, even better, he wanted to roll into dinner in a stunning suit, shiny shoes, with clean skin and manicured nails. He wanted that bloody man-servant to feel like a fool for assuming that Draco Malfoy was nothing more than a laboring dog. 

Not to mention, the way Granger’s body language had changed the moment the older man had stepped onto the scene… She was afraid of him. Which was a big deal, as Hermione Granger wasn’t afraid of anyone. Yeah typically in most cases an enemy of his enemy was his friend, but he wasn’t so sure if he could ever consider this man his friend. Perhaps it was because ever since he had realized Hermione was all he had on this bloody ship, he had stopped considering her his en- 

No! He shook himself mentally. What had he been thinking? One day on a ship from the past couldn’t change so many years of animosity and hatred. 

“I’m goin’ back to bed,” Hamish said, stifling a yawn and interrupting his inner turmoil, “figure it out yerself… but don’t come back until you’ve calmed down.”

Hamish retreated back into their room, the door clicking shut behind him. Draco was left alone in the long, suffocatingly small corridor. He wanted to kick something.

What had he gotten himself into? 

What had possessed him to get so entangled in Hermione’s life on this ship? Was he really that desperate to be around a familiar face? 

The image of the Gryffindor girl leaning off of the bow of the ship, unraveling before his eyes, flashed through his skull. He didn’t know what had pushed her to the brink like that, but the idea that such a strong girl as her could be driven to such extremes had shocked him. He was simply curious; yes, that was it. Besides, Draco thought darkly, it was best to know your enemies, after all. Regardless, he was determined to get to the bottom of this whole affair.

It seemed that life in the lap of luxury wasn’t treating Hermione so well.

. . . 

The following morning, Hermione Granger was in full preservation mode. She said nothing unless she was spoken to directly. She hadn’t made eye contact with a single person all throughout breakfast; she simply stared at the uneaten food on her plate, waiting for the meal to be over. 

She would play the part of Annabelle. She would do it and keep her mouth shut and preserve her own physical safety. She had come to a really ugly realization last night: without her wand there was very little she could do to protect herself. Every painful breath and accompanying creak of her abused ribs reminded her of that.

Hermione was deadly with her magic, make no mistake. With it, she could take down even the largest and most dangerous man or beast. But she wasn’t a physically strong girl, she had never taken any self defense classes, and she could count the amount of times she had gotten into a physical altercation on one finger. 

Her “mother” leant over and hissed, _ “Eat something.” _

Like a robot, Hermione picked up the fork that she assumed was right and took a bite of her breakfast. She chewed mechanically, not really tasting a thing. 

“Annabelle, dear, how are you feeling?” A familiar American voice piped up behind her, she looked over her shoulder to find Molly Brown approaching. She had a friendly smile, but her eyes were tight with concern. Hermione forced a smile of her own, hoping that it would at least fool the woman sitting beside her.

“Better,” she murmured, “thank you.”

“I heard from the grapevine what happened last night. You must have been so frightened,” she said, and Hermione felt her mother tense beside her. She had woken up to what felt like the whole ship’s concerned gazes and verbal affirmations… word about the first class girl almost slipping overboard spread like wildfire through the night. 

If Hermione thought her mother had been mad at her before, this was something else. She could feel malice pouring off of her in waves, each one deepening the sick feeling that had settled in the pit of Hermione’s stomach.

“Thankfully there was that kind steerage boy to help her,” one of the women sitting at their table piped up. Hermione thought about Draco; how in her world he was an infamous, wealthy, pure blood turned death eater and in this world he was nothing more than a ‘kind steerage boy.’

“Is it true he’ll be joining us tonight for supper?” A man asked, twirling his mustache methodically.

“Yes,” her mother quipped, “we thought it was the kind thing to do.”

_ Liar, _ Hermione wanted to snarl. She wanted to jump from her seat and flip the table full of china and delicate pastries from its place, sending everything crashing to the ground. She wanted to tear the pins from her hair and kick off her shoes. She wanted to run from the table and down to steerage where she really belonged. At first, Hermione had quietly enjoyed this lifestyle. Yes, she was trapped on a doomed ship, but at least she was able to wear stunning silk gowns and eat decadent meals from expensive china painted with all sorts of intricate designs. 

Now, she knew it was all a sham. Such excessive wealth was wasteful, monotonous, and hollow. She didn’t know how Malfoy had grown up this way his whole life. Her thoughts drifted back to him for the hundredth time that morning… 

...he had saved her. That same sniveling prat that had tormented her all their lives, who had called her ‘mudblood’ countless times and insinuated over and over again that the world would be a better place without her— Hell, he had held a wand against her head in the hall of prophecy and threatened to kill her— _ that _ same Draco had talked her into coming back on board. He had held onto her as she dangled haplessly into the darkness and hoisted her up and back over.

Why?

Why didn’t he just let her jump? Even pushing her overboard seemed like a more likely scenario involving the Draco  _ she _ knew. 

She sat in her spot, hands wringing restlessly in her lap. She wished she could have asked him herself in person… but she doubted she’d be able to see him until that night. Maybe not even then, unless he had some first class formal clothes lying around in his room. 

If he didn’t make it to dinner that night, how would she tell him about the fate of the Titanic? At first she couldn’t believe that he didn’t know that this ship would soon be sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic. It had never occurred to her that someone could have been completely ignorant to one of the world's most famous tragedies. That had been the most influential factor in her decision to stay. She had to tell him. She had to.

“Annabelle,” Molly’s voice jerked her out of her inner turmoil and she looked at the older woman. “How would you like to get some air with me? The weather is perfect for a stroll.”

Hermione looked at her mother, who pursed her lips in displeasure. 

“That might be good for the girl,” someone at the table said.

“We’re not finished with breakfast,” her mother interjected.

“It’s alright, Martha. You don’t have to get up,” Molly insisted, “It can be just Anna and I. You’re done, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

Hermione’s heart skipped. A moment away from that woman! 

“Yes, I’m done,” she responded quickly. 

Despite her racing heart, she took care to act slowly and delicately. She picked up the white napkin next to her plate and dabbed the corners of her mouth before putting it back. She stood and nodded at the table.

“Thank you for all your well wishes, everyone,” she stated, pushing her chair in, “I’ll see you all at lunch.” 

“Enjoy your stroll.”

Her mother watched them leave with narrowed eyes, and Hermione couldn’t help but notice the firm grip with which she was holding her jam knife.


End file.
